


Lockpick

by Geoff_Ramseys_Moustache



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Daddy Kink if you squint, Devious Stiles, First Kiss, First Time, If You Squint - Freeform, Lock Picking, M/M, Mates, Peter is a Little Shit, Stiles is a Delinquent, Stiles is a virgin, Top Peter Hale, Underage Sex, Well Not Anymore ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 22:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14091189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geoff_Ramseys_Moustache/pseuds/Geoff_Ramseys_Moustache
Summary: Stiles had learnt to pick locks by the age of 12, a pretty extravagant feat for a child armed only with the two paper clips that were holding his English assessment together and a shaky at best understanding of how basic tumbler locks work.





	Lockpick

**Author's Note:**

> Yo this is my first time writing No Pants stuff with these characters so be kind! 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated!

Stiles was standing outside Peter Hales apartment, while the man himself hadn’t actually given Stiles the address, Stiles had found and memorized it shortly after the wolf’s dramatic come back from death, it wasn’t too difficult to find when you had access to police records and Danny, who he bribed into hacking into the real-estates contract server. Stiles, however, did not have a key to the apartment, yet. Peter was smart enough to not leave his keys lying around when Stiles was near by, whether he had realized that Stiles had been making copies of everyone’s keys or not was unbeknownst to him, but Peter’s set of keys was the only ones he didn’t have in his collection… Stiles realizes just how creepy it is but hey he has to be known for something right? 

Checking down the hallway, Stiles notices the paint starting to chip around the crown molding and the fake security camera set up in the corner made to deter people trying to break into places, people like him. With that thought in mind, Stiles crouched down and looked at the lock on the apartment door. It was a simple tumbler lock, Stiles assessed, nothing too difficult. Looking both directions down the hall again, Stiles pulled out his pocket set of lock picks and began playing with the spring pins. 

Stiles had learnt to pick locks by the age of 12, a pretty extravagant feat for a child armed only with the two paper clips that were holding his English assessment together and a shaky at best understanding of how basic tumbler locks work. He had mistakenly forgotten his keys in the rush to school that morning, and by the time he had rounded his street corner and started patting his pockets did he realize he had forgotten his house keys. It took him 20 minutes to work out how to get it to turn and another 10 because he had mistakenly turned the barrel in the wrong direction. After he managed to unlock the door and get inside he spent the following hour or so practicing and honing his skill, this time with his key on him just incase. Once he got the hang of picking the front door he moved onto the back door and then onto anything with a lock he could get his hands on. Ever since then his lock picking skills had only improved, something that used to take him 20+ minutes now only took him 20 seconds. 

It was a useful skill to have, no door was ever really locked in his eyes, only temporarily obstructed. This skill had become especially handy in the recent years, while almost all of his friends how have stupidly enhanced strength and could easily override a lock with a flick of their wrist and minimal effort, Stiles was still faithfully human, and so locked doors were more of a problem… or they would have been. It was days like this that he was proud of his younger self for picking up a new skill instead of asking the neighbors if he could call his dad to open the door.

In the silence of the corridor the locks sounded like rounds being chambered, the barrel twists and the door opens. Stiles, still crouched, places his tools back in their wallet and the pick wallet back into his own and stands. 

“I’m in.” Stiles mumbles, causing his self to laugh quietly as he makes his way into the apartment, “house: hacked.” 

Peter apartment was… almost exactly what he had expected, well, for a while Stiles had expected Peter to live in a secret lair hidden under Beacon Hills and the apartment he was currently standing in was very far from that. 

The mans apartment was neat and everything seemed to slot exactly into place. The entrance lead into the kitchen, which was decked out in fingerprint-less stainless steal and black appliances. The kitchen then leads seamlessly into the dinning room, which houses a moderately sized glass top table with a bouquet of soft looking red roses pushed against the wall and surrounded by a sleek set of dinning chairs. Typical. The man dressed himself with impeccable style, why would his apartment be any different. Stiles walked slowly through the threshold, running his hands over things that sparked his interest. There was no use trying to stop the spread of his scent through the wolfs apartment, the moment he walked into the building Peter would know Stiles had been here.

Stiles gaped once he made it to the lounge room. The furniture, while looking very comfortable, was nothing out of the ordinary, nor was anything else really except there was a wall lined, head to toe, with books. 

Stiles shook his head, “holy shit, Creeperwolf has been holding out on me.” 

Stiles flumps into the three setter couch that sits in front of the television and coffee table, proving his suspicions correct, it was very comfortable.

“I could die happy right now.” Stiles comments and turns his head to look down the hallway that leads off the lounge, “however, curiosity will always get the better of me.” 

Stiles forces himself from the overly comfortable couch and makes his way down the hall checking over his shoulder first at the front door. The thought of Peter catching him as he snoops about his home is exciting in ways he’d rather not explain. Stiles sucks his lip into his mouth and continues on into the first room and opens the door, running his hands over the wall to find a light switch. With a gentle click light floods the room. Peters study. 

The walls of the room are lined with more books than that of the lounge room. What Stiles presumes is Peters desk sits in the middle of the room and is accompanied by a leather swivel chair and his MacBook sitting innocently in the center of his desk. Stiles runs his fingers up and down the spines of books, both old and new, on his way around the room, stopping behind the chair. 

Stiles pulls the chair back and sits down, swirling around once before righting himself and running his hands along the cold metal of Peters laptop. “Don’t mind if I do.” 

He lifts open the laptop and is faced with the glowing login screen, ‘entre password’. 

“of course.” Stiles huffs, he can pick a lock but he’s no good at getting into computers, its never been his forte. “Maybe…”

‘PeterRulez’ – incorrect   
‘Alpha4Life’ – incorrect 

Stiles huffs up and spins around in the chair a few times when a dumb idea strikes him. “There no way, but trying never hurt anyone.” 

‘daddy’ 

The computer unlocks and Stiles is greeted by his home screen. 

“Holy Shit.” Stiles almost shouts, “No Way, oh my god.” 

Stiles eyes are wide and he’s breathlessly grinning into his hands, it is both shocking and… intriguing. Other than Peters password and a few files on mythology and magic, however, Stiles hasn’t found anything of merit so either Peter is good at hiding things (very likely) or he has another hidden laptop somewhere (also likely). 

After a few more minutes digging though Peters non-existent search history and documents and coming up with practically nothing, Stiles ventures out of the study and further down the hall. There’s a spare room on the left and directly across from the main bathroom on the right. The spare room had empty wardrobes and a double bed, and the main bathroom wasn’t too spectacular either, it has spare toothbrushes and some old cologne that Peter definitely didn’t ware judging by its sickly sweet smell. 

There was one more door Stiles had yet to check behind, it was, presumably, Peters bedroom. Stiles walked right up to the door and placed his hand on the handle. 

“Is this going too far?” Stiles questioned, even though his gut was pushing for him to just go in and see what Peter has. “Nah.” 

Stiles twists the door handle and steps into a room that is definitely Peters. The room, like the rest of the house, is clean with light grey walls and pretty crown moldings, but unlike the rest of the house smelled every so strongly of the wolf, sparking something primal inside of Stiles. 

A large king bed sat in the middle of the room, with a white duvet and black pillows, Stiles walked up to the end of the bed, kicked his shoes off, turned and collapsed into the cloud soft duvet. This is what heaven is, Stiles thought as he ran his hands along the covers before scooching up the bed until his head hit the pillows. If Stiles thought the room smelt strongly of Peter, he was in for a wild ride. Stiles drew in a large breath and relaxed into Peters pillows. They smelled exactly like the man himself, musky and sexy and smooth like his cologne but mixed with the subtle smell of pine and petrichor. And Stiles was hard in an instant. 

Fueled by bad decisions and desire, Stiles attentive fingers travel over his chest, across too-sensitive nipples and down his abdomen as his breath constricts and his hips roll. His other hand is fixated in the pillows that surround his head, knuckles white, body like a loaded gun. His hand makes quick work of his jeans button and zip. Stiles hand slips under his waist band as he strokes himself a few times before shimmying his pants and boxers to his lower thighs, his cock standing at attention. The thought of Peter catching him now has his toes curling in his socks. Stiles jerks himself slowing, hips stuttering into each stroke and mouth open, soft moans and whimpers fill the air like a symphony. Thoughts clashing like a car crash. Peter pushing him into his bed biting and sucking marks. Peter claiming him as his own. Peter, Peter, Peter. 

~~~ 

Peter knows Stiles has been here the moment he walked into the apartment building foyer. There’s a very faint but ever present scent of Stiles. How the boy found where Peter lived is impressive, but not unwanted, to say the least. Peter had always been fond of Stiles, while everyone else saw a sardonic, spasmodic teenager, Peter saw intelligence, wit and cunningness. Peter saw someone who returned his sass instead of getting offended or annoyed. Peter saw a challenge. A match.

Peter strolled across the foyer and into the elevator, pressing the button for his floor with a smirk, wondering whether or not Stiles was still in his apartment.   
The elevator pinged and the doors opened. 

Peter stepped out and made his way to his front door, wondering if Stiles had managed to replicate his key the way he had done with many others from the pack or if he had simply picked the lock. Peter pushed the door open and froze, eyes flashing silvery blue like sparks off a match. His senses are flooded with a mix of ever so sweet arousal and everything Stiles. 

Peter is taking long strides through the kitchen before he even realizes. He has to physically stop himself from answering Stiles’ faint wonton cries. Peter grips onto the kitchen counter and tries to fain sanity and calm his wolf, whose howling at the thought of claiming and mating such a pretty prey. It’s a very difficult feat as the sound of soft moans and whimpers of pleasure are sweet syrup thick and like gun shots to his over sensitive hearing. Peter takes a deep breath through his mouth, tasting his baby boy’s arousal in the air, and makes his way to his ajar bedroom door. He pushes the door open and leans against the doorframe, Stiles has yet to notice, all too wrapped up in his own pleasure.

“Such a selfish creature.” Peter growls low, stiles body locks up like the safety on a gun as if he does know what would happen if he moves, “Don’t stop on my accord baby.” 

“Peter –I-I…” Stiles gasps and stutters, eyes wide and mouth agape, erection never wavering not even for a moment. 

Peter strolls calmly to the base of his bed, looking down at Stiles spread out body with eyes that convey anything but calm. Peter grabs Stiles by the ankles and drags him down so his knees would rest the base board if Peters hands weren’t holding them.

Peter seemed to be everywhere outside him, against him, chest-to-chest and thigh-to-thigh. 

Peters eyes bleed silvery blue at the boy below him. 

“Stiles,” Peter’s tone is stern, “Do you want this?” 

“Peter please.” Stiles whines high in his throat before turning his head to bear his throat to the wolf above him. Peter purred, and Stiles fucking gasped below him. Stiles tried to catch the meek sound between his teeth but failed completely as Peter continued to press the full length of his ever so maddeningly dangerous body against Stiles’. 

Peter gradually increasing the pressure to press him into the bed, pinning him to it and the total unyielding strength of the wolf made Stiles shudder, made something in Stiles twist and melt and surrender, made him pant and tremble. Peter connected their mouths in a vicious, fanged kiss. The sweep of Peter’s mouth was sharp enough to cut Stiles open but Stiles already felt flayed, stripped bare; Peter’s fingers encompassed Stiles wrists, caging him in and keeping him still but he didn’t need to, the blue of Peters eyes trapped Stiles to the core.

Each breath that passed through his throat scorched a trail, each inhale carried Stiles’ scent and Stiles’ breath into his lungs. Something about the way Stiles shameless hardness pressed into Peter abdomen drove him crazy with want. Peter made himself everywhere, against Stiles, chest-to-chest and thigh-to-thigh. 

Peter ducked his head down and put his mouth just under Stiles’ ear and everything blazed blue inside him, Stiles head fell backwards into the impossibly plush mattress and arched, his spine curving and it was nothing like the poison, nothing like it, he just, he, wanted, needed, his hands flew to Peter’s shoulders and he was gasping and digging his nails in, they couldn’t get closer but Stiles pulled at him anyway. Peter couldn’t name the sounds his beautiful boy was making as Peter drew his lips open-mouthed down the line of Stiles’ jaw, down his throat—

Dragging his teeth—

Peter made a startled, starving sound low in his throat as Stiles arched into him and Stiles felt it like a line of fire down his spine, a thrill of power-lust that he could make someone sound like that, someone as dangerous, as always-controlled as Peter Hale. Stiles ran his nails lightly down Peter’s skull and shoulder blades, Peter shudders, felt it like a drug, to be able to touch and mark and please Stiles in this way. He was ever so tempted to just bite down. 

Stiles gasped out like a man starved of air. 

“You know I’ve never done this before, right?” he murmured, knowing exactly how the knowledge would hit the werewolf like a freight-train. “Not with anyone. Nothing but some kisses.” 

Peter growled lowly at even the thought of anyone else getting to touch his master piece. 

“You can be my first everything,” he breathed.

Any real string of control Peter had managed to save snapped in an instant as he picked Stiles up from the end of the bed and threw him up the bed so his head would hit the pillows, swiftly following Stiles up, dragging off Stiles and his own clothing as he went. 

Stiles felt the knot in his gut lurch deeper and he tangled his hands in Peter's hair once again.

"You may not be a wolf but when I'm done with you..." he nips lightly at Stiles' neck, "...you'll be howlin' my name.” 

Stiles faint giggle quickly turned into a gasping arch as Peter pushed a lubed finger past that tight ring of muscles. Stiles body thrummed like power-lines around Peters fingers, gasping and rocking into the movement, panting, craving, pleading for more. Once Peter deemed Stiles stretched enough, he pulled his fingers from the boy, a whimper at the lose fell from Stiles lips but was quickly swallowed by Peters own mouth, as Peter dragged Stiles thighs up and over his own, lining himself up at Stiles entrance. 

It was absolutely exhilarating how Stiles moaned, loud and clear and full of pleasure, as he slid into him. Peter watched Stiles with his eyes half-lidded, amusement bellowing off him in waves, only broken the moment Stiles smirked and rolled his hips. Peter sucked in a sharp breath through fanged teeth and dug his fingertips into the back of Stiles' thighs, coaxing him further, settling him into the rhythm that he wanted. 

“Brat.” 

Something in the back of his mind wanted to warn Stiles that this had the potential to be embarrassingly short-lived. Peter gave as well as he ever had; Stiles swears could feel the muscles in his thighs as they tensed and flexed with each thrust, a hint at the barely restrained power lurking below Peters skin, nails digging into flesh, breath hot against the curve of his throat. Peter thrust up a little harder, and all Stiles could think about was how overwhelming the feeling of being pressed into this unforgivingly tight space made him feel like every nerve in his body was alight. 

“Peter please,” Stiles whimpered, it sent Peter over the edge and with a few quickened thrusts and strokes both Peter and Stiles were slammed by the blinding high of orgasm. It left them panting and sore on Stiles part. 

Peter pulled out and dropped down beside Stiles, catching his breath for a second before untucking the covers and pulling them over himself and Stiles. Peter shifted and manipulated stiles so his head was resting against Peters chest, where they both drifted off.

~~~

In the morning Stiles grinned wide when he found an extra key on his key chain when he went to start his jeep. 

“heart: hacked.” Stiles cackled to himself as he drove away, already planning the next time he visits.


End file.
